


Little Virtues

by loomweaver



Category: Little Nightmares (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:40:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29691690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loomweaver/pseuds/loomweaver
Summary: Not everyone lives long enough to see themselves become a monster.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 103





	1. The Maw

The children deserve better than to simply end up as hors d'oeuvres for the gluttonous Guests. And yet, what can a lone, blind man do against the cruel world that lay around him?  
The Janitor knows he would never be able to survive on his own in the Pale City. His memories turn against him on sleepless nights, and his mind conjures phantoms of the cold rain staccato, making him shiver as he is reminded of the days before his services were required and his needs were cared for.  
The days before the Maw.  
It is a miracle that the Lady saw fit to employ a worthless man like him, and for that, he is eternally grateful.  
He had long since come to terms with the work he does, and even though he is never proud of it, it's a job worth doing well, if only to prevent the needless pain and suffering. And so he works dutifully, caring for the caged children, snapping their necks ever so gently, wrapping their lifeless bodies ever so diligently, treating the children with respect that the likes of the Twin Chefs would never give.  
At least, this way, fewer have to suffer.

* * *

Boiling and slicing, frying and dicing, mashing and stewing, all for the purpose of satisfying the Guests' cravings.  
The Twin Chefs take pride in their work, despite how unsavory it might seem for an uninformed observer, and while the two brothers often disagree, both of them know that they provide an important service.  
When the neverending queue of the Guests' orders comes to a momentary standstill, they remember the times when they were children themselves, when their stomachs thrashed in pain and minds were clouded in ravenous hunger, when they weren't sure whether they would be dining on a rotting rat from a dumpster that day or going hungry for weeks on end instead.  
The days before the Maw.  
And so they work methodically, peeling the meat from children's bones ever so carefully, so as not to drop even a single morsel, and using the bones for the broth so as not to waste even a single dish.  
Their vow is bound by blood and honor, that as long as they live, no one ever has to go hungry. Not if they have to say anything about it.

* * *

The Maw is the Lady's kingdom, and it embodies her ideals - those lacking strength, beauty, resolve deserve neither respect, nor reward.  
Those who succumb to their vices and weaknesses quickly find themselves on the wrong end of a butcher's knife, feeding those who remain strong and steadfast, and no one is an exception - neither the Guests, nor the children, nor the servants.  
She tends to her flock like a good shepherd would, both those who accept their fate to become nothing more than livestock, and those who fight against it for control over their lives.  
But the natural order of things must never be disrupted.  
The Guests that survive their trip to the Maw must never return there. The servants that dare to grow a backbone are exiled to the Depths of the Maw. But it is the runaway children that the Lady is especially fond of.  
She admires their resolve to act, their unstoppable desire for a better lot in life. They are the ones that don't deserve to suffer, to have their very flesh and essence consumed, to be imprisoned in their cages, awaiting their inevitable slaughter.  
So she offers them a new home, devoid of fear and danger. The Nomes are skittish creatures, free to run around, play, and simply be happy, free to live out a gentle, kind childhood they deserved, but were never given. No one on the Maw that's still in their proper mind dares touch the Nomes, lest they incite the Lady's wrath.  
Her kingdom may be a den of vice and cruelty, but let it never be said that the Lady isn't fair or just.


	2. The Depths and the Wilderness

The Granny was once an elderly crone, the governess of the Maw in charge of keeping the caged children tame and docile.  
While strict and overbearing, herding children and cowing them into submission with her shrieking voice and her frightening visage, she was also patient and merciful. Even if a horrible fate ultimately awaited the children in her charge, they were never beaten, starved or otherwise humiliated. She prided herself in that, if nothing else.  
That was before she was consigned to the Depths, exiled by the Maw's proprietress for daring to contradict the vision of the Lady's kingdom.  
Now, the only mementos of the Granny's former presence on the Maw are silent playgrounds and scattered toys.  
The Depths twisted her very being, turning her body into that of an abyssal predator and her mind to that of endless hunger.  
And yet, her heart remains her own, full of sorrow, pain and regret.

* * *

The Hunter has grown to hate the sounds of the music box echoing from his basement, just like he has grown to hate his prisoner, the monster in a little girl's guise.  
He found his son stuck in one of the bear traps, his corpse gored by the wild animals. He is sure his son would've never set foot there on his own - after all, he taught the boy better.  
He doesn't have any definite proof, but he also cannot ignore the malicious glint in the girl's eyes, the way she keeps licking her lips or following him with her animal stare when she thinks he isn't looking.  
Spending his days hunting and nights skinning the caught animals, The Hunter tries to forget the guilt of losing his very own son. Even the crudely made taxidermy dolls now seem grotesque and no longer bring joy to him, looking more like corpses than the life-sized rag dolls he first intended.  
At the end of the day, he keeps mulling over his decision to keep the beastly child in his basement, to uphold whatever remnants of morality he has left rather than digging a shallow grave and putting a shotgun shell through the girl's head, but he never genuinely considers going through with his revenge. He vowed he would never regret his decision to merely lock her away rather than take an eye for an eye, a life for a life.  
He will not succumb to the beast within.


	3. The Pale City

The children are a menace to themselves - or, at least, that is what the Teacher believes.  
In a world where a single misstep means being horribly twisted, cruelly mutilated or dying ignominiously, maintaining order is the only reasonable course of action, even if it means ruling with an iron fist. It doesn't mean she enjoys the way she has to slam her ruler against the table or the punishments she is forced to dole out, but the Teacher will gladly tolerate the quick fearful glances or the terrified shivering of her children.  
Her part is that of an inscrutable, merciless tyrant, and she will keep playing it if it means the children are kept safe, fed, and away from those accursed TV sets.  
When the lessons end, and the school turns silent for the night, she shuts herself in a small hidden room, where she has a piano secreted away, all for her own, away from the rowdy children in whose hands the piano would inevitably be destroyed.  
Her fingers flitter over the keys, as she relives the long lost dream of playing on stage and her imagination paints an applauding audience. It's the only thing that can make a semblance of a genuine smile appear on her deadpan face.

* * *

The Doctor is living on borrowed time.  
He knows it, and he accepts it, but that does not imply he will go gentle into that good night.  
He fusses over his patients, scurrying from one bed to another, and curses the bloated body that blights him, that hinders his efforts to prevent the spread of the Signal Tower's corrupting influence.  
There is a healthy mind in a healthy body, but the reverse also holds true, and the Transmission twists flesh and mind alike like nothing the Doctor has ever seen before. Some of the deviations are impossible to cure, but the others can be handled by a precise cut of a scalpel and the cold touch of porcelain.  
Whenever the Doctor isn't nursing the sick, he spends time trapped in his own thoughts, doubting himself, whether the amputations he performs and the ball-jointed prosthetics he attaches are a desperate, but necessary measure, or merely a consequence of him being unable to discern his own insanity, twisted as he is by the Transmission.  
But there is no one else fit for the job, and so the doubts give place to the grim resolve. There is only so much difference a single man can make, and the Doctor intends to make the fullest of the time he has.

* * *

The Thin Man waits.  
He can neither escape the Signal Tower, nor destroy it, so he simply waits. Waits for the budding friendship, the perilous journey, his own demise and the inevitable betrayal.  
The time has tempered his passion and tempered his expectations. He had accepted long ago that he will not be leaving the Signal Tower the same wide-eyed child he was when he entered it.  
He looks into the curved reflection of a TV set, and sees thousands of people staring back at him, their eyes rapt with attention. The siren call of the Transmission has twisted the denizens of the Pale City, and all the Thin Man can do is bide his time serenely inside the proverbial eye of the storm.  
But eventually, the storm will pass, even if for a moment, and his presence will be required. The cycle will begin anew.  
The Thin Man waits.


End file.
